


Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

by Ordinarily



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Absent Parents, Board Games, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Lil bit of Loubby, Power Outage, Snow, but you can rly ship her w all of them or none of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordinarily/pseuds/Ordinarily
Summary: An enchanted board game punishes the player every time they cheat. Unfortunately, it's the Duck family who's playing.Or, Webby holds onto more than she lets on.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Huey Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: ** I'm not really sure about the layout of the mansion, but for the sake of this fic there's a dining/kitchen area on the main floor, from which the grand hall/foyer is visible.
> 
> It's also a tiny bit Loubby focused if you're into that.
> 
> Happy reading!

Louie narrowed his eyes at his hand of cards like there was more than one move he could make. He threw in his red 5 defeatedly, relinquishing his charade and stretching back in his seat. Dewey changed the colour to blue and Webby cheered, throwing in her final card.

The brothers whined in unison, having lost their fifth consecutive game to her. 

Huey announced that he was going to get a refill on snacks. “And for the love of phooey, choose a new game before I get back.” He eyed Webby pointedly, who smiled innocently as she shuffled cards like a dealer at a casino. “ _Not_ a card game,” he emphasized, pulling away from the table. 

Webby deflated, sending stray cards flying from her riffle. 

“Ugh, let’s just watch TV. Please,” Louie complained.

Snow fell all around the McDuck Manor, swirling in the howling wind and piling up by the inch against the windows. The sparse blimps of yellow light in the home flickered, leaving brief intervals of nothing but the harsh glow of blue from the outdoors. In the foyer was a towering Christmas tree adorned with childhood ornaments, relics, and coloured lights. It sparkled in the dimness. 

“You act like this was our first choice,” Dewey said, gesturing to the pile of board game boxes. 

“Gah!” Louie covered his face. “I keep forgetting.”

The storm had long since knocked out the power and Scrooge, generous as always, had refused to power anything but a handful of lights and kitchen appliances on the backup generator. Louie remembered the pain of watching his phone in its last moments of battery life—mainly because that had been eight minutes ago. With most of the electronics dead and adventuring all but off the table, the kids dug up Webby’s old board games. At least, they thought they were Webby’s. Some of the boxes were so weathered and dusty, it wouldn’t have been much of a stretch if it turned out _Duck Trap_ was actually Scrooge's from when he was a kid. 

“How about Monopo—“

Dewey raced to cover Webby’s beak. The rest of the word muffled against his palm and she looked at him, puzzled.

“Do not say the M-word!” Louie had nearly leapt across the table to stop her. He stood now, eyes wide and palms digging into the table. 

Dewey removed his hand tentatively and then all at once when he was sure Webby wouldn’t say it. “Scrooge is like some kind of… maniac when it comes to that game,” he explained. “He always wins, but at what cost?” Dewey seemed to recall some kind of traumatic memory. He and Louie collectively shivered.

“Scrooge isn’t even here,” Webby pointed out as the boy across from her retook his seat.

“Oh, he’ll hear you. Trust us.” If the look of desperation on Louie’s face was anything to go by, Webby settled for their words as truth.

Huey returned, balancing several bowls on top of each other. Each of them took one to alleviate his load and arranged them in the centre of the table. All at once, he noticed the forsaken box and sent a newly filled bowl of popcorn clattering to the ground in his unsettlement. “What is _that_ doing here?!”

Webby conceded. “Alright, alright. No Monop—“

The triplets tensed. 

“No… M-word.”

They all seemed to relax. 

“So, what should we do instead?” she asked. 

“How ‘bout a nice nap,” Louie suggested.

“It’s like 8,” Huey pointed out, picking up the spilled popcorn. 

“Time is a social construct.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

The remaining three exchanged looks.

From the stairs, Scrooge could be heard humming to himself as he hobbled his way to the fireplace. 

Louie cracked open an eye. He did a double-take as he spotted Uncle Scrooge throwing more logs into the fire. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at his uncle’s proximity and he sprung to his feet, only a second after the rest of his family. They lunged for the board game, looking around anywhere and everywhere for a place to hide it.

It ended up in a kitchen cupboard, squished between salad plates and soup bowls.

Webby pulled out a random box from their pile, throwing the board down and pieces across it just as Scrooge made his way near their table. 

“Nasty storm out there, eh?” he mused.

“Yep.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sure is.”

Dewey, from his seat, eyed his uncle as he rummaged around the cupboards. Louie seemed to know exactly what was going on behind his back. He stared straight ahead at Webby for signs of it as she pretended to shake a die. Huey forced himself to breathe evenly. Dewey seemed to relax a little as Scrooge finally placed his bag of tea delicately in a mug.

Webby wasn’t sure how much longer she could fake roll. Louie looked down at her hands and back up at her in silent question to the happenings behind him.

The kettle whistled loudly, sending Huey’s shoulders up to his ears. Webby faltered, sending the die rolling across the board.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Scrooge said. “Just making some nutmeg tea.” He winked at Webby, who forced a smile in turn.

“One drop of milk,” she replied nervously. 

With every clink of the spoon against the ceramic, Louie sank further in his seat, dead inside. 

“What are you lot playing?” Scrooge asked as he made his way out, passing their table again. “You know, I quite enjoy Monopo—“ Before any of them could scramble to read the box’s title, Scrooge jumped so far out of his feathers, he spilled tea all over the floor. “What the blazes?! Where did you get that?!”

Huey rushed off to get paper towel as his uncle stood tense. 

“In the garage. Webby had a ton of old games,” Dewey offered, suddenly a little skeptical. He looked at the game—really looked. 

Where the box must have once been white, it had since turned colour from age and stark, golden letters spelled out the name _CHEATERS_. The cardboard was ripped in several places and most of the box’s print was faded, except for the gold symbol on the cover and the title's lettering, which seemed remarkably untouched. 

As Huey bent to clean up the second mess of the night, Scrooge stared at the rolled die. He seemed to contemplate his next words. “Didja even read the instructions?”

Webby shook out the box, empty. “There were no instructions.”

Scrooge gulped. “Right, then. Just… Ya cannae cheat, alright? That’s the only rule.”

Dewey looked from Scrooge, to Huey as he stood up, and back. “A game with only one rule?”

“Yep. Only rule. Don’t be a sore loser. Right, well, I’m off then. Best of luck to ya. Cheerio.” Scrooge walked out, then faster as he rounded the corner.

“Did he just say cheerio?” asked Louie. 

“Is it just me or this seems kinda lame?” Dewey asked.

"Yeah, and Scrooge seemed way off," Louie added.

“How are we supposed to cheat when we don’t even know how to play?”

Huey grabbed the back of the box, his eyes moving over the faded text. “It’s kind of just, like… a regular game. You move your piece along the path and do whatever the square you land on tells you to.”

“Well, I’m going back to napping,” Louie declared, pulling his hood over his head. 

“Yeah, okay. Let’s switch game,” Dewey said. “I’m not feeling this one. Oh! Let’s play _Duck Trap_!”

Webby shrugged and moved her piece off the board. Had that been a bow before? She was sure she’d grabbed a top hat. Regardless, her bow was stuck on the second square of the road. “Guys? It won’t come off.”

Dewey reached over to grab it for her and yelped, pulling his hand away and shaking it out. “Why’s it hot?!”

Webby cocked her head and touched it to make sure. “It’s… not?”

Huey tried folding the board back in half as means to end the game, only for it to flip back open. He tried it several more times and looked around incredulously, as if to say, “I’m not the only one seeing this, right?”

Louie found that he couldn’t quite keep his eyes closed. He picked up a piece—a sailboat—and watched as it turned into a tiny silver gem. “It’s cursed.”

“What was that?” Huey asked.

His face and voice were expressionless but Louie was clearly fed up with the lack of normalcy in their lives. “The game’s cursed.”

“No way. Uncle Scrooge would’ve warned us.”

Louie made a move for the box, murmuring to himself as he read. “There’s no getting out of it once you start." He looked up. "What was he supposed to tell us? Webby had already rolled.”

Webby flushed. “S-sorry guys.”

They waved off her apology. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Huey said. "No way this is worse than playing M-word with Scrooge. Alright, let’s do this."

Webby looked hesitantly at her square. “'Draw a Lucky Token’. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” She found a baggy filled with small plastic gold coins and fished one out. As she inspected it for instructions or symbols or _something_ , it turned to real gold. She jumped, accidentally dropping it on the board with a loud _thwack!_

The boys leaned in close to make sure what they were seeing was real.

“Gold?! This game has real gold?!” Louie exclaimed. “Don’t mind if I do…”

He reached his hand into the bag just as Huey shouted, “Lou, no—!” The coins turned to snakes who slithered their way around his wrists and clamped down, turning to metal. Louie yelped and strained against the handcuffs, trying to pull them apart. “…Don’t cheat...” Huey finished.

“Aw, phooey…”

Webby’s hands shook as she looked between Dewey and Huey, unsure who to pass the die to next. 

“Dealer’s left,” Huey said. “You’re up, Dewey.”

Dewey frowned. “This isn’t even the same game.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Huey declared, folding his arms as Dewey rolled.

He touched a silver plane and moved it six spaces down. Dewey squinted at the tiny globe in its place. “That was a plane before. You guys saw that, right?”

He picked up a prompt card and read aloud: “Sing your best. If you get a perfect score, move to the FINISH.”

“Oh! Guys. I _got_ this. Consider this game a—finished.” 

Huey, Louie, and Webby exchanged looks. 

Dewey stood up and pressed a finger to his ear, building up to a note, only for his voice to crack partway through. “Seriously? Not a single moulting feather but sure, why not? Let’s go with the voice thing.”

Where Webby and Huey tried to hide their smiles, Louie was not nearly as affording. He let out a boisterous laugh, tilting his head back and pointing at his brother. “Hoo boy, our little Dewford is hitting puberty! They grow up so fast...”

“Come on, guys. Let me go again! I know I can hit that note!” 

While Louie looked doubtful of his brother’s claim, both Huey and Webby seemed to catch the real flaw in his wording. Webby stuck her hands out and Huey pulled on his hat as they shouted at him. 

“Dewey!”

Dewey opened his mouth—“What? What’s wrong?”—but nothing came out.

His eyes grew wide, panicked. He grabbed at his throat, desperate, as he tried to make a sound—any sound. 

“You tried to cheat!” Huey cried, gesturing in his brother’s general direction.

Dewey let out a silent whimper and, when he realized not even that had made a noise, sat down dejectedly. 

Louie’s handcuffs had seemed like all jokes and giggles, but this… The air in the room seemed to grow colder.

Dewey passed the die off to Louie and slouched forward into crossed arms. Webby leaned over to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look at her. 

Before the youngest brother rolled, he noticed a piece of paper in front of him that wasn’t there before. He looked up to find Webby and Huey looking down at their own papers. 

“What are these?”

The numbers 1 through 10 were printed on the papers, with the title RATING. 

“We were supposed to _rate_ Dew’s singing,” Huey prompted.

They each grabbed a pencil, hesitant. 

Louie seemed to debate between two numbers. 

“Guys we have to be honest,” Huey continued. “We’d be cheating if we lied.”

Webby looked at poor, defeated Dewey, and back at the sheet in front of her. The graphite hovered across the numbers as Webby considered them. Another glance at Dewey, chin on his folded arms, frown across his beak, and Webby’s heartstrings tugged. 

“Did everyone pick?” the oldest asked.

Webby winced as she circled her number and quickly put her pencil down. 

Louie turned his paper around. He’d circled 1. “Sorry, man.”

Huey revealed a 2. “You started off well,” he offered.

Webby’s number seemed to glow as she showed it to the others. Dewey gave her a weak smile and mouthed a “Thank you” at her 10, but Huey’s face fell.

Her paper caught fire, burning to ash between her fingers. She shut her eyes tight, anticipating what was to come. It was quiet for a moment. No snakes or metal handcuffs. 

She tried out her voice. “Hey, was that it? That wasn’t so bad.”

The triplets let out a breath. “You got lucky,” Louie told her.

“Come on, Webby, please. Let’s just play the game right,” Huey chided.

“Okay, Granny.” She covered her mouth. That wasn’t right. She would never say something like that.

Huey eyed her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be bossy. I’m just trying to avoid any more incidents.”

“Yeah, well—“ Webby couldn’t stop herself. “You _are_ bossy, even if you don’t mean to be.” She shook her head, her tone softening. "Oh, Huey, I’m _so_ sorry.” Only for it to switch back. "Although, I’m not sure why. _You_ never apologize for things, do you? Because _you_ think you’re always right.”

Webby hung her head, ashamed. Even as the words tumbled their way out of her mouth, she knew they were wrong. They were true, and they were her feelings, but they didn’t account for the whole thing. Huey was wonderful in so many ways. Those were certainly not her only—or even her prominent—thoughts about him. That wasn’t fair. 

Once the shock had faded, her friends looked at her in understanding. They’d clearly caught wind of the punishment for her cheating, and knew all too well what it was like to pick on the flaws of those closest to you— _and_ the guilt that followed. (Louie had called Huey bossy so many times in his life he’d lost count, but Huey was always quick with an “at least I got off the couch today”.) The difference was that Webby wasn’t one to poke and prod at people’s shortcomings. She clearly noticed them—the boys understood that now—but she never pointed them out, much less used them against the person. 

Huey let out a breath, trying his best not to feel hurt. People were allowed to be annoyed with him, he reminded himself. And Webby would have never deliberately tried to harm him with those feelings of annoyance. 

“It’s okay,” he told her, and when she looked up at him, her eyes full of tears, he decided that it really was. 

She supposed that if she tried to apologize at this very moment, more buried emotion would surface, so she stayed quiet, forcing a tiny smile and a nod. 

Dewey slid her a glass filled with soda in an effort to console her.

Louie’s heart squeezed as she sniffled. He rolled the die to distract from… all of that. At this point, Louie would take any penalty over seeing Webby cry. 

His gem moved of its own accord, four spaces down. It was a Lucky Token square and his hands shook as he dug through the bag. If it had been up to him, he would’ve never put his hand back in that godforsaken bag, but he knew there would be consequences for not. So he pulled a coin out, swallowing his fear, and watched it turned to gold. He let it fall to the table, fighting the urge to pocket it.

Huey let out a stiff breath as he started his first turn. The silver Erlenmeyer flask morphed into a book—a familiar guide book, Huey thought to himself—as he moved it three spaces.

He picked up a prompt card and read. Once. Twice. Three times. The table looked at him intently as he lowered the card, visibly conflicted. 

It felt as though the silence itself was waiting to be filled by Dewey, who always seemed to have the perfect thing to say. It was Webby who finally spoke in his place. “What does it say?"

Huey pressed his lips together, letting out a shaky sigh before holding the card in front of him again to read aloud. “What is the thing you love most? Destroy it.”

Webby covered her beak. Dewey and Louie’s mouths fell open. The middle brother put his arms out in front of him as if to defend himself from a physical attack.

Slowly, Huey reached up to lift his hat, pulling his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook out from under it. He stared at it, unsure exactly what emotion he was feeling. “This has to be it, right?”

Dewey lowered his hands in realization.

“Hue, man, just take the consequence,” Louie told him, distressed.

Huey shook his head. His voice came out in a whisper when he spoke, like for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to do. “What if that’s worse?” He looked around the table and then at nothing for a second.

Dewey, dread filling him, stared at his brother, horrified, as he tore off the cover and shredded pages between his fingers. He was there for a while—it was a considerably large book. Every rip felt like a paper cut and Dewey flinched at each one. 

The game seemed to accept his turn. Huey got very quiet after that. 

Several rounds passed with minor incidents—mostly to Louie, due to his limited range of motion—and they were nearing the finish. Well, maybe nearing was a strong word. The mental strain put on the four of them was enough to last a lifetime but, apparently, the game still wanted more out of Webby.

_What do you fear most?_

Webby stared at the card. “Well. It’s not like I’ll be able to lie, anyway.” She smiled weakly, in a feeble attempt at optimism. "I guess it’s sort of like a free play."

“Webbs,” Louie leveraged with her. She met his eye. “You don’t have to answer.” As much as Louie hated the results of her last trial, he had a feeling the girl with the bow in her hair was harbouring a lot more than she let on. 

She appreciated the sentiment, but: “Yes, I do.” She stared down at her game piece. This one was pretty easy—she’d lived it for ten years.

“I guess… I guess I’m scared of being alone.” Once she started, there was no way to stop. “Before you guys moved in, it was… quiet in here. All the time.” She seemed to be remembering the years of solitude that left her afraid of abandonment and long silences.

There was an itch that pushed her further. She tried to swallow it down. "I’m scared of Granny passing away and never knowing who my parents were. Or worse, I’m scared that—that they’re alive and didn’t… didn't want me. I’m scared of—“

Louie felt trapped in his body as he watched her fight to hold back the words. 

“Scared—sc-scared that I don’t have a family a-and once Granny’s gone… it’ll just… be… me.” 

Webby refused to cry again. She was embarrassed and vulnerable, but she was _not_ going to cry. 

The lights on the Christmas tree went out in the foyer, plunging that room into darkness, save for the warm glow of the fire.

She looked over at it to distract herself. The boys didn’t seem to notice. They each sat frozen in place.

Louie was the first and only one to speak. His voice was low and broken. “Webbs…” 

Huey stared down at the game, angry. She should’ve never had to tell them that. 

Dewey fought tears. He knew what it was like to want so desperately to know what your parents were like. If you were like them; if people would tell you who you resembled more. If you were good enough to be their kid. 

He couldn’t imagine what it’d been like all those years… just Webby and her grandmother and an absent Scrooge. At least he’d had his brothers and Uncle Donald. They were a bit of an unconventional family on that houseboat, yes, but they were close. He couldn’t imagine what Webby would’ve given for that. He looked up from the table at them, suddenly grateful for their bunk beds and arguments. 

Surprisingly, Huey was the first to wrap his arms around her. He wasn’t much for touching, but he knew it was how Webby showed love. His brothers followed soon, with Louie stretching his hands as far as the handcuffs would allow. He opted for hugging her arm instead. 

“Thanks, guys,” she said quietly and they hugged her tighter. 

\---

It was one more turn around the table before Dewey’s globe landed on the FINISH square.

“Oh, thank Zeus,” he said. “Hey! My voice!” 

Louie swore he hadn’t seen Dewey smile that wide since… yesterday, probably. 

Louie grabbed another coin, then Huey was next to reach the finish. He felt his weight shift and lifted his hat curiously. Sure enough, his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook was unharmed. He flipped through it, just to make sure it really was okay. 

Webby crossed after him.

“My favourite colour is black!” she shouted, feeling the internal restraints disappear. She sighed, relieved. “Never thought it would feel so good to lie."

If Louie rolled any number higher than three he’d make it across.

He’d taken a pretty hard hit throughout the game. Still in shackles, he scratched at hives covering his body, rasped with the feeling of dehydration in his throat, and trembled through his drop in body temperature.

His teeth chattered as he rolled.

He blew out a sigh of relief and watched his gem cross the finish. One by one, the results of his punishments disappeared. He watched his final coin turn to plastic as his handcuffs turned to dust, and rubbed at his wrists, slowly making the connection. No one seemed to notice, so he didn’t say anything. Webby smiled at him and he smiled back. As they packed the game away tiredly, he snuck glances at the coins of his friends. They’d all gone back to plastic and Louie did some quick math in his head.

He pushed the feeling of dread away at thoughts of what-if, and helped clean up, thankful the game had turned out the way it did.

They walked out into the grand hall, drained and exhausted, each holding a pile of boxes. Scrooge was putting the fire out. He nervously asked about their game.

“Yeah, great, thanks,” Huey said dryly. 

“You all had enough coins?” Scrooge asked.

Louie met his eye, giving him a slight shake of the head.

“What do you mean?” Dewey asked.

“Oh—oh. Nothing, nothing. It’s just—ah—whoever has the most coins... is the winner.”

The kids looked amongst each other and finally shrugged. None of them could remember and, frankly, none of them really cared.

The Christmas lights flickered back on and Scrooge murmured to himself, “Thought I removed that from the generator.”

Huey looked around, spotting the hallway’s lights back on. “I think the power’s back.”

“Ah,” Scrooge said, putting his hands on his lower back and stretching. “Yes, well, good. I’m off to bed to bed then. Goodnight, kids.” He made his way up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Uncle Scrooge.”

Webby offered to put the games back in the garage and they passed off their boxes to her, uttering thank-yous and you’re-the-bests.

Dewey turned to Huey, like something was still bothering him. “How’d you know your book would be okay?”

Huey shrunk in on himself a little. “I didn’t."

“You were willing to sacrifice the JWG like that?"

“You really are braver than the rest of us,” Louie said.

Huey shoved him and started up the stairs, the corners of his mouth pulling upward. “Shut up."

Dewey followed him and Louie, seeing Webby’s towering pile of board games, grabbed the top layer. “Let me help you with that.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She smiled at him just barely over her pillar. “Night, guys,” she called to the two boys up the stairs. 

“Night, Webby,” they called back, as she and Louie began their trek to the garage.

In the garage, Webby and Louie stacked the boxes on their respective shelves. 

“What should we do with this one?” Webby asked, from the ladder. She held up _CHEATERS_. 

“Chuck it,” Louie said honestly. 

Webby giggled but Louie opened the side door and frisbeed the game into five feet of snow. He put his back against the door to shut it against the force of the wind, losing balance a little as it banged closed.

“You know we’re just going to find it again when the snow melts,” Webby told him, sliding down the ladder.

“Shh, shh, dear Webbigail,” he quipped, throwing an arm over her shoulder and steering her away from the garage. “Pay no mind to the cursed game." 

She grabbed his arm from her shoulder so that she was pulling him along instead. “Come on, loser. Let’s get some sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’d you call me?”

Webby felt the rising unease and loosened her grip, choking on her words. “Oh—uh—I didn’t mean—“ They stopped just outside the foyer. 

Louie put a comforting hand on her shoulder, his expression sincere. “You’re family, Webbs. That’s not conditional.”

She looked at him, shy.

"No one’s gonna revoke your membership for calling them bossy or a loser or... whatever you wanna call Dewey—annoying is my personal preference." She looked at him funny. "Point is, you don’t have to be so… nice all the time.”

“I like being nice.”

The sides of his eyes crinkled. “And we love that you’re nice. But we’re not dangling the family card over your head, okay? It’s yours to keep.”

She swallowed a heaviness in her throat and nodded. “Thanks, Lou.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shrugging. They stood at the bottom of the staircase for a quiet moment, under the multi-coloured glow of the tree. 

Webby looked at her hands, seeing the colours along her feathers. Louie watched.

When she caught him, she took in a sharp breath as if she wanted to say something, before letting it fall. Louie didn’t press it.

She forced a smile at him, giving him an awkward wave a few steps up. “Well, thanks for the help."

He climbed after her. “No problem.”

At the split landing, Louie went right and Webby headed left. She stopped again, like she couldn’t let go of the thing still gnawing at her. Louie seemed to notice and turned at the same time as her.

“Do you—do you think Huey’s okay?” she blurted.

“What—like, in the head, or?”

Webby’s smile was lost in her worry. “I mean… I think I hurt his feelings.”

“Huey’s a lot of things, and insecure is one of them but… no. I think he’s okay. We’ve fought way worse.”

Webby stopped herself from saying, “Yeah, but you’re brothers.”

“You can apologize to him tomorrow, if that’ll make you feel better.”

Webby seemed to perk up at this. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I will.”

There was another beat where neither of them moved.

“Hey, do you…” Louie started. “Do you, uh, wanna make some hot chocolate or something? I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight, anyway.”

Webby looked relieved. “Oh, I’m not sleeping for the next week.”

In a burst of energy, they sprinted back down the stairs excitedly, running to the kitchen with goofy grins plastered on their faces. 

Hot cocoa mix was never quite the same as the real thing, but it was late and they were looking for a quick fix. Webby climbed up on the counter, palming for something on the highest shelf of a cupboard, as Louie poured two cups.

She hopped back down with a bag of mini marshmallows in hand, much to Louie’s elation. 

“I think I just fell in love with you right now,” he joked.

“You’re in love with the marshmallows,” she retorted, smushing the bag in his face.

He laughed, really laughed, and Webby, for the first time, thought that maybe everything would be okay. She never thought much about the future because she’d always had the assumption that it would be bleak. Louie’s grin told her otherwise.

They sat up on the island, facing the large window so they could stare out at the storm. Hail tapped against the windowpane and Louie closed the kitchen light so they could see outside better.

When Webby looked at him again, his feathers glowed the slightest pink from the light of their tree in the other room. She clinked her mug against his and they sipped quietly. 

“I can’t wait to charge my phone,” Louie said.

Webby let out a laugh. “I can’t wait to turn on every single light in the house."

“I think Scrooge would actually murder you if you did.”

“Worth it."

Louie leaned over to grab another handful of marshmallows and dropped them in his hot chocolate.

“Do you ever wonder about your dad?” Webby asked him bluntly.

Louie faltered, sending several marshmallows tumbling away from his cup and onto his lap. 

“Sorry, I—There was no file for him and—You don’t have to answer that, Louie.”

“It's okay." He shrugged, watching the fluffy cubes melt away in his drink. "I guess… I dunno, I’ve always sort of seen Uncle Donald as our dad. I know he’s not, obviously, but… I just felt like I never really needed one with him around.”

Webby smiled. “I like that.”

“Me too.”

The wind howled and more frozen rain fell against the glass.

Louie shivered. “I know… I know it’s not exactly the same but…”

Webby sort of caught the gist. And Louie sort of caught the gist that Webby caught the gist.

He stopped and started again. “You’re not going to be alone, you know? Even after Beakley. You’ve got us, now.”

Webby bit the inside of her lip. She looked down at her drink, feeling the steam waft up. “And you’ve got me, too,” she said, finally.

Louie grabbed her hand and held it while they drank. They stayed that way until the storm eased into a light snowfall and the first dustings of pink filled the sky, bathing the world in a serenity both of them would have cherished if they’d been awake to see it. 

Scrooge would find them, shoulders slumped together and breaths even, in the early hours of the morning. He’d smile, lift them up, and carry them to the TV room, draping a blanket over their tiny, sleeping bodies. 

Back in the kitchen, Scrooge would make himself tea and watch the sunrise himself, deeply pensive in the quietude. And, eventually, when he'd open the cupboard to grab a small plate for toast, would discover, much to his bewilderment, a crumpled Monopoly box stuffed between dishes.

He’d tilt his head, let out a chortle of disbelief, and close the cupboard. 

Wouldn’t trade those kids for the world.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware this sort of has multiple endings but idrc ok thanks for reading!


End file.
